" he angels, Father. Can’t you hear the angels?"

"Please son. Come down from there."

"No, Father. I want to be with the angels. So perfect, so beautiful. I want to fly with them. Isn’t that what life is all about, Father? To fly with the angels?"

"Life is about living, my son. Please, give me your hand."

"I can’t Father. This is not something I have to do. It’s something I want to do. Don’t you see? They’re all around us. Everywhere. Just waiting for us. I want to be with them. I need to be with them. If only you could see..." The man’s voice trailed off, and he became almost sad.

The wind rustled around the three figures who stood atop the church roof. The man was so close to the edge that if the wind got any stronger it was liable to push him right off. The priest was a few steps away from him, desperately trying to talk him down. The uniformed officer stood farther back, hesitant to do anything which may cause the man to panic.

"You can’t want to end your life, son." The priest took another step forward. The safety harness tightened around his chest as he moved. Each step brought him closer to the man, and farther away from where the line was anchored.

"I’m not ending it, Father. It’s a beginning. Just like you guys have always said. Death is not the end. It is merely a transition."

The uniformed officer also took a few steps forward. They were small, hesitant steps, but steps nonetheless. If she could reach the man, she could grab him from behind and wrestle him to the ground. Or, she could unintentionally push him over.

"Please, I am begging you. Come down off that ledge. We can talk things out."

"No Father. It’s time."

The priest knew he was not qualified to try and talk the man down, but the stranger whom he had met only a half-hour before had asked specifically for the priest and would talk to no one else.

The man had come into the church, right off the street, and had gone up to the priest.

"Hello Father," he had said. Immediately, the priest had felt uneasy about the man. Why, he was not exactly sure. There was no specific reason, he supposed, just an overall feeling.

"What can I do for you, my son?" he had replied, still unable to ignore the feeling of trepidation that seemed to be crushing him.

"Do angels exist, Father?"

The question seemed odd, but he was asked many odd questions in his profession.

"Yes, my son," he responded, without much thought.

"Are they here on Earth? Do they watch us? Do they live amongst us?"

The priest thought this over for a moment before answering.

"No, they do not. Angels exist in Heaven. They are the messengers of God, and where you find God, you shall find angels."

"Does God not exist on Earth? I thought he was in all of us? In the hearts of men?"

"The will of God is in us," said the priest, struggling to find an answer which would appease the man. "Angels, however, are spirits that we meet in the afterlife..."

"Are they here on Earth?" the man asked again.

"No, they are not." The priest’s feeling of anxiety was now amplified, and he began to slowly move away from the man. Something in his eyes suggested he was not all there. He didn’t know why, but the priest got the feeling that the man was only half there, and that someone, or something else was with him. Guiding him, almost.

He could not explain this feeling, nor could he dispute the absurdity of it. In fact, he wondered why it had even occurred to him.

"I think they are, Father," said the man. "They are here on Earth. And I want to show you."

The man began to move toward the rear of the church. The priest was afraid to stop him, and he followed at a distance. He saw the man begin climbing the stairs which led to the roof, and he decided it was best that he call the police.

The female officer had arrived first on the scene, and after a brief discussion with the priest, had gone up to the roof. She found the man standing on the ledge.

"Where is the priest?" he had asked.

"Downstairs, in the church," the officer had replied. She was slowly advancing on the man, even though his back was to her. She did not want to do anything that would upset him.

"I want to talk to him," he said. He had not turned to face her, yet he had known she was there and that she was someone other than the priest.

"If you come down from there, and back into the church, you can talk to him for as long as you wish," she said, trying to maintain control of her voice.

"I’m not saying another word until you get the priest up here. And if you come any closer to me, I swear to God I will pitch myself right off this roof."

He was almost there. If he reached out, he would almost be able to touch the man’s shirt. It didn’t matter, though, because even as the priest inched forward, the man spread his arms and looked up at the sky. With a final sigh, he leaned forward and fell.

The uniformed officer covered the remaining few feet in a matter of seconds and was able to grab the back of the man’s shirt. Her momentum, however, and the pull of his weight as he went over the ledge caused her to lose her footing. She was unable to hold herself upright, and she pitched right over the side, her hand still clutching the waving flannel shirt.

She knew she would have fallen the rest of the way to the street below, if only the priest hadn’t leapt forward and grabbed her by the belt. He lost his footing as well, tumbling off the ledge and into the bright blue afternoon sky. He clenched his fist tightly around the officer’s belt, refusing to let go. He braced himself for what he knew was coming, and when the safety harness jerked painfully across his chest, he did not lose his grip on the woman.

As the harness came to the end of its rope, the priest, the officer and the man began to swing hard to the left in an arc. Then they swung to the right, and then again to the left. As their velocity slowed, the arc began to shorten. Soon, they came to an abrupt stop, hanging vertically from the rooftop.

The sudden cessation of their fall sent pain through the officer’s arm and her spine. It also caused part of the man’s shirt to tear. The sound carried easily to her ears, a sharp, grating sound in the mid-afternoon air. The man kept yelling at her to let him go as he gently swung back and forth below her, but she would not loosen her grip.

Trusting that the priest held her firmly, she reached down with her left arm so she could hold onto the man with both hands. He struggled and squirmed in an attempt to release himself from her grip, but still she would not let go.

Her abdomen hurt from where the front of her belt was biting into her, and she gritted her teeth to keep from crying out.

The other officers on the rooftop had arrived on scene shortly after the woman. Now, they had run to the ledge, and they all breathed a sigh of relief when they saw that the three people were still alive. They sprang into action, each one taking hold of the safety line. They started to pull, but quickly abandoned this idea. There was no pulley or anything on the rope; it simply lay on the edge of the roof. As they pulled, the friction caused by the nylon rubbing against the stone began to cut through the rope. The rope was already slightly frayed from the initial fall.

"How long can you hold on?" called one of the officers.

The priest was in no position to look up, but he called back. "Not very much longer. My grip is slipping."

The officer turned away from the ledge and instructed the other officers to find something to try and place under the rope to prevent it from snapping.

Meanwhile, the rope, and the man’s shirt continued to tear.

"Give me your hand," she said to him, but he did not even acknowledge that she had spoken.

She had never been so afraid in all her life. It sounded cliché, even as the thought entered her mind, but it was the truth. As a police officer she had seen many frightening and disturbing things. Her life had even been in jeopardy on a number of occasions. But nothing like this. She had no control over the situation at all. It was as if some unearthly power was guiding her, the priest, and even the man. She could do nothing but hold onto the shirt and pray that it did not completely rip. All the priest could do was try and hold onto her for as long as he could before the rope broke, or her belt snapped, or any number of other things.

She was at the mercy of others, and that was what scared her. Any moment, and she could find herself plummeting to the ground with no way of stopping herself.

Death was so close. She could feel it.

"Let go of me," said the man. He was kicking his feet and pulling on his shirt with his hands. She was certain that in a matter of seconds he would succeed in freeing himself from her grasp. And she was tempted to let him.

The priest was watching all of this, and he knew that the shirt would rip soon. He also knew that the rope, which was constantly sliding against the stone ledge, was frayed and in danger of snapping at any moment. He also knew that he couldn’t hold onto the woman’s belt for much longer.

"Let him go," said the priest.

"What?" demanded the woman.

"Let him go. I need you to give me your hands, or else you’re going to fall as well."

"I can’t let go of him," she said, surprising herself. A moment ago she had contemplated the very thing the priest was now asking. "I won’t."

She did not know why she was bent on saving this man. Perhaps it was an ingrained part of her that she could not just let a person die. If she let go of him, she would be a murderer. Plain and simple. Sure, she had not pushed him off the roof. She had even tried to save him. And she had saved him, and in doing so she had made herself responsible for him. If he died now, it was because she had failed. If she simply let go of him, it was like throwing him off the roof all over again.

"Please," she heard the priest say. "You’ve got to. Otherwise we all die."

"No," she said again, determined.

"I will hold onto you for as long as I can, but I don’t know how long that will be. My grip is weakening, and the rope is frayed. It’s either him, or us."

The shirt tore again, and the man kept kicking at the air.

"I want to be with the angels," he said.

"It’s looking pretty bad," said one of the officers. "That rope won’t hold much longer." As the three people struggled on the line, it rubbed ceaselessly against the rocky ledge, and their weight was putting strain on the threads. It was only a matter of moments before it broke.

"Have they got the net set up below yet?"

"No. It just got here. They’re setting it up as fast as they can."

"They had better be, because there’s not much we can do up here."

The two officers tried pulling on the rope to relieve some of the strain, but they were not strong enough to lift three people. The would need a third, fourth, maybe even a fifth person to help pull. And there was no way that many people could fit into the small area and grab onto the rope.

As the two officers stared at the rope, they prayed that it would hold out for just a little longer. Just long enough for their partners to set up the safety net.

At last, the shirt tore, the ripping sound shattering the still air. The officer would have cried out, but quickly saw no point in it. She futilely reached for the man’s arm and suddenly, she had the strangest sensation. As if she was not in full possession of her mind. Like there was someone else with her.

She was vaguely aware of the man crying out and screaming for help as he fell to the street below. Screaming about not wanting to die.

She just dangled there, part of the man’s torn shirt in her hand. Then she heard the priest speaking to her.

"Please. Give me your hand," he said. "You have to try and hold on to me as well, because I don’t have the strength to support you any longer."

She twisted slightly and reached up with her right arm. The priest released the rope, and still holding her belt, grabbed her hand.

"Try to pull yourself up," he said.

And it was then that she saw them.

"Is it set up yet?"

"Almost. A few more minutes."

"Christ. They’re not going to make it."

The angels floated silently over the priest’s shoulder. They seemed to shimmer in the calm afternoon air. They were the most beautiful things she had ever seen. The purest white. Their elegant wings flapping gently as they hovered near the church.

She was dazzled by the mere sight of them. Their radiant beauty and heavenly grace. So marvelous and spectacular.

"So beautiful," she said. "So perfect."

"What?" asked the priest, struggling to maintain his grip.

It was then that she heard them speak. Their mouths didn’t quite seem to form words, but she could hear them all the same. They were beckoning to her.

"Let go of me Father," she said, struggling to pull her hand free.

"What?" the priest said again.

"I want to be with the angels."

"What are you talking about, my child?" said the priest, but understanding was beginning to wash over his mind as he stared into her eyes. He had seen those eyes before, only the belonged to another face.